Chapter 2

_Enter_ MRS. SECORD.

After a weary day the evening falls With gentle benison of peace and rest. The deep'ning dusk draws, like a curtain, round, And gives the soul a twilight of its own; A soft, sweet time, full of refreshing dews, And subtle essences of memory And reflection. O gentle peace, when--

_Enter_ PETE, _putting his head in at the door_.

_Pete_. O, mistis! Heh, mistis!

_Mrs. Secord_. What now, Pete?

_Pete_. Oh, mistis, dat yar sergeant ossifer-- Dat sassy un what call me "Woolly-bear." An' kick my shin, he holler 'crass to me:-- "You, Pete, jes' you go in, an' tell Ma'am Secord I'se comin' in ter supper wiv some frens." He did jes' so--a sassy scamp.

_Mrs. Secord_. To-night? At this hour?

_Pete_. Yes, mistis; jes', jes' now. I done tell Flos Ter put her bes' leg fus', fer I mus' go An' ten' dat poo', sick hoss.

_Mrs. Secord_. Nay, you'll do nothing of the kind! You'll stay And wait upon these men. I'll not have Flos Left single-handed by your cowardice.

_Pete_. I aint a coward-ef I hed a club; Dat poo', sick hoss--

_Mrs. Secord_. Nonsense! Go call me Flos, and see you play no tricks to-night.

_Pete_. No, mistis, no; no tricks. [_Aside_. Ef I'd a club!] _He calls from the door_: Flos! Flos! Ma'am Secord wants ye.

_Mrs. Secord (spreading a cloth upon the table)_. God help us if these men much longer live Upon our failing stores.

_Enter_ FLOS.

What have you got to feed these fellows, Flos?

_Flos_. De mistis knows it aint much, pas' noo bread, An' two--three pies. I've sot some bacon sisslin', An' put some taties on when Pete done tole me.

_Pete_. Give 'em de cider, mistis, an' some beer, And let 'em drink 'em drunk till mas'r come An' tell me kick 'em out.

_Flos_. You!--jes' hol' yer sassy tongue.

[_Footsteps are heard without_.

_Pete_. Dat's um. Dey's comin'. Dat poo', sick hoss--

[_He makes for the door_.

_Mrs. Secord_. You, Pete, come back and lay this cloth, And wait at table properly with Flos.

_Enter a_ Sergeant, _a_ Corporal _and four_ Privates.

_Sergeant (striking Pete on the head with his cane)_. That's for your ugly phiz and impudence.

[_Exit Pete, howling_.

(_To Mrs. Secord_.) Your slaves are saucy, Mistress Secord.

_Mrs. Secord_. Well, sir!

_Sergeant_. None of my business, eh? Well, 'tis sometimes, You see. You got my message: what's to eat?

_Mrs. Secord_. My children's food, sir. This nor post-house is, Nor inn, to take your orders.

[FLOS _and_ PETE _enter, carrying dishes_.

_Sergeant_. O, bless you, we don't order; we command. Here, men, sit down.

[_He seats himself at the head of the table, and the others take their places, some of them greeting_ MRS. SECORD _with a salute of respect_.

Boy, fill those jugs. You girl, Set that dish down by me, and haste with more. Bacon's poor stuff when lamb and mint's in season. Why don't you kill that lamb, Ma'am Secord?

_Mrs. Secord_. 'Tis a child's pet.

_Sergeant_. O, pets be hanged!

[_Exit_ MRS. SECORD.

_Corporal_. Poor thing! I'm sure none of us want the lamb.

_A Private_. We'll have it, though, and more, if Boerstler--

_Corporal_. Hold your tongue, you--

_Second Private_ (_drinking_). Here's good luck, my boys, to that surprise--

_Corporal (aside)_. Fool!

_Sergeant (drinking)_. Here's to to-morrow and a cloudy night. Fill all your glasses, boys.

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